


(Feels Like) Heaven

by Melivian



Series: I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Does it count as Major Character Death if everyone starts off dead?, Drug Addiction, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, No Sibling Ships, Past Drug Use, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, The Good Place (TV) Spoilers, Uh...it makes sense if you've seen The Good Place, absurd comedy, sibling soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melivian/pseuds/Melivian
Summary: When Klaus wakes up in the afterlife, he can't believe his luck.  Somehow, despite his checkered past and wobbly moral compass, he's made it into the Good Place, where he'll spend eternity with his dream soulmate in a dream neighbourhood.Only there are two problems. The first is that he's pretty sure the architect of this neighbourhood has the wrong person.  The only thing he and his new soulmate can agree upon is that Klaus doesn't belong with all the heroes and philanthropists here, and if Lila catches on, Klaus'll be sent to the Bad Place--far from Dave.The second is that for the residents, this dream is starting to feel a lot like a nightmare...
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174892
Comments: 58
Kudos: 36
Collections: EnKlave Fest 2021





	1. Oh, Fork

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Place AU prompt submitted to Enklavefest, because it grabbed my mind in a vise and refused to let go. Just so I don't disappoint anyone trawling the collection to inject Klave into their veins as quickly as possible: 1) as of this posting, Dave hasn't, um, actually _shown up_ yet, 2) this fic will focus heavily on the ensemble as a whole and the lore of this version of The Good Place--I'm expecting the romance plot to be roughly as significant as the ones in _The Good Place_ itself.
> 
> Once I post the chapter where Dave makes his entrance so that this isn't false advertising, this fic will go on hiatus to give me time to map out future arcs in more detail. Normally I like to have 90% of a fic written before I start posting, and this is shaping up to be _massive_. But there wasn't enough time before the deadline. If I change my mind on anything, I reserve the right to stealth-edit any foreshadowing in this chapter in a month to make myself look smarter!
> 
> Thanks to electric016, ItchyToaster, and Jenni4 for their feedback on this chapter.

Klaus opened his eyes and saw a bright white light. Then he opened them again and saw the words _Welcome! Everything is fine._

He was in a waiting room, pristine and well lit, with only a few twee knickknacks like abstract sculptures and fake plants to break up the Zen minimalism. Although the slogan on the wall gave him rehab flashbacks, the yuppie-day-spa decor was too upscale for any facility that would still take Klaus. The loveseat he sat on was firm but comfortable, not like the cheap folding chairs at the ER or the hard concrete benches in the drunk tank. He wasn't wearing a hospital gown. He wasn't strapped to a gurney with an oxygen mask on his face or being dragged by angry cops with his wrists in shackles.

“Oh, fork,” he said. “Don't tell me I'm dead.”

At the sound of his voice, he blinked. “Wait, did I just say 'fork'?” He tried again. “Fork. Fork. What the heck is going—” Klaus stopped, touching his mouth. “Heck? Holy shirt…”

His throat closed up as he tried not to panic. He wasn’t high, was he? After all, he had a pretty damn good idea of what being high felt like, and he was too lucid to have taken any substance that could have created a hallucination this vivid.

Pressing his fingers against his temple, he racked his brain for memories of the past twenty-four hours. The taxi ride. The leap out the door into traffic. The phone call with Pete. The adrenaline rush, the euphoria and ensuing numbness, everything turning fuzzy…

As a lily-pad fountain gurgled in the corner, Klaus felt a creeping dread. It was dawning on him that this time, whatever had happened might not be reversible.

Before it could escalate into a full-blown meltdown, a door swung open.

“Klaus Hargreeves?” said a dark-haired woman who couldn’t have been more than his age.

“That’s me.”

She motioned him forward. “Come right in.”

He stood on shaky legs and skipped to the doorway. To lighten the tension, Klaus said, “Is this a doctor’s office or something? If so, I should tell you, I've got a bad spine. Chronic pain issues, really sad. The only thing that works for it is Demerol. So if you could get your prescription pad out—”

“You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Where we are now, there’s no need for doctors.” She flashed him an indulgent smile. “I’m the architect.”

The woman wore coveralls, a chunky sweater, and a messy bun held up with a pencil. To Klaus, she looked more like a quirky art student than a professional architect.

Through the door was an office with a hefty mahogany desk and framed artwork on the beige walls. Oddly, the sideboards and shelves and coffee tables were covered with cacti in all shapes and sizes, but otherwise this reminded him of the offices his stepfather had dragged Klaus to for consultations with first-rate defence lawyers (back when the old man had still been willing to buy Klaus first-rate lawyers).

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to a hard-backed chair in front of the desk. Klaus sat down, a block of ice in his chest.

On the other side of the desk, she sank into her leather chair with a contented smile. She reached for the pen holder and took out what looked like a hand clapper noisemaker, the kind with plastic hands on a stick given out as party favours at children’s birthdays.

“Thank you.” Klaus forced the brightest smile he could muster. “Nice office you got here. Makes me feel like I'm in a desert.”

The woman winced. “Oh, pardon all the cacti. Just a teensy glitch with our last Ben. But never mind that! Klaus, right? The name's Lila.” Instead of extending her hand, she stuck out the noisemaker in Klaus's direction.

Tentatively, Klaus grabbed the plastic hands and gave them a shake.

Lila leaned back into her chair and propped her legs up on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. As she idly twirled the noisemaker, the clap-clap-clap rattled through Klaus’s skull. “Well, let's get down to business, shall we? The bad news first.”

“Aw, why is it always bad news?” Although Klaus tried to sound lighthearted, a knot was forming in the pit of his stomach.

“I'm afraid you're dead.” From her tone of voice, she might as well have been telling Klaus that she was afraid they were all out of Gummy Worms today.

“Oh,” Klaus said. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel right now. “Well, that's a relief.”

“I know it's a shock, but don’t you worry. You'll adapt quickly to death. The change is a bit rough at first, but we've got resources to help with that.”

Opening a drawer, she pulled out a brochure and handed it to Klaus. He looked at it. _So you've just found out that you're dead_ , the cover said in bold lettering. Underneath was a cartoon of a smiling old man standing arm-in-arm with the Grim Reaper. Both of them were flashing thumbs-ups.

Klaus folded the pamphlet up into a square and shoved it into the tiny pocket in the seat of his leather pants. “Looks great,” he said, nodding aggressively. “I'll, uh, definitely give it a read later.”

“I suppose you'll want to know how you died?”

Klaus's smile became strained. “I already know how I died,” he said, in a tight voice.

“Pity. I was looking forward to telling the story.” Lila held the noisemaker up to her eye like a telescope and rotated it, examining it from all angles.

Klaus ignored her. He was staring at the beige short-haired carpet beneath his feet, counting every fibre. Right now he was becoming too conscious of his organs, of the weight of his muscles and bones. He didn’t want to ponder the metaphysical implications of still having working organs, not now when an invisible band around his chest seemed to prevent his dead lungs from expanding fully.

It was funny. Klaus couldn’t say this was unexpected. He’d accepted years ago that it was only a matter of time before one of his fuck-ups left him dead in a ditch. But it hit him like a cold slap to the face that the process of pissing your life away was different from the aftermath of seeing it washed down the drain forever. Only now did he realize he'd never truly given up. When you were alive, no matter how much you’d lost, you could still hope. You could close your eyes and pretend that tomorrow might be the day you got your shit together, that next time in rehab might be the one that stuck and made you a brand-new person. But now it was too late. Book closed, end of story. No erasing the ink on the page or writing a satisfying conclusion. Chapter 1: Klaus would never amount to anything. Epilogue: Klaus didn't.

“Anyway,” said Lila, “now that we're through with the unpleasant part, I'm sure you're _dying_ ”—she cackled at her own joke—“to know what the verdict is.”

“The verdict?”

“On your life!” She balanced the toy on the bridge of her nose as she leaned back, feet still on the desk. “Whether you were a good or bad person. What your actions meant for the grand cosmic scheme of the universe!”

“Are you telling me that all of it was supposed to mean something?”

“Of course! From the moment you’re born, you’re being watched by our expert accountants. And every action you take, even the most insignificant, is assigned points based on its moral value. For example, if you give a hundred dollars to a reputable charity, that’s worth twenty points. Steal a hundred dollars? You lose forty. So when you”—she made bulging eyes and stuck out her tongue as she drew a finger across her throat—“all your points are tallied up, and we give you a final score. Depending on the result, you’ll either be sent to the Good Place”—Lila pointed up—“or the Bad Place.” She made a face and pointed to the floor.

Klaus's heart beat more quickly. (His heart that shouldn't have been beating at all, because he was dead. By now he'd given up on grasping the logistics.) Although he was afraid to ask how many points were deducted for shooting speedballs, something told him that regardless of the answer, the...adjacent stuff had sunk him. _His mother crying over broken strings of pearls on the floor, rainbow shards of glass on the wet pavement beneath him sparkling with the colours of flashing police lights_ —Klaus shook his head to dislodge the images like they were drops of water.

“Aren't you curious to know how you did?” Lila sat up, her eyes wide and innocent.

Klaus chuckled bitterly. “Not sure you'll tell me anything I don't already know.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. Come on. Take a guess for fun. Pick a number.”

Really, she didn't have to drag it out so much. For a moment, Klaus wondered if she was enjoying his misery.

“Ninety million,” Klaus said.

Lila laughed. “I love a man with unearned confidence. But never mind the score. It’s time to find out where you’re destined to spend eternity.”

He gulped and closed his eyes. Well, Klaus had always run cold anyway. Maybe a toasty climate wouldn’t be the worst fate for him.

“Based on your score...drumroll, please!” Lila started drumming her hands on the side of her desk. “Klaus, the verdict is...the verdict _is_...”

After a pause that must have lasted ten seconds, she said in a warm voice, “Congratulations. You're in the Good Place.”

Klaus blinked his eyes open. “The...Good Place? So I’m going to heav—”

“Shhh!” said Lila, covering her ears. “There's nothing religious about it. The Good Place is just...a place. A place that's good. A non-denominational good place.”

“Huh.” He thought he should be happy, but the only emotion he could drum up was mild confusion. “So...what's so good about it?”

“What's so good?” Lila gave him an incredulous look. “Klaus, this is paradise. Only an elite few make it in. The best of humankind. And every atom of this neighbourhood was perfectly designed to accommodate three-hundred-and-twenty-two worthy souls. It should have everything you could ever want. Fun activities, cute animals, frozen yogurt...And I should know. I made it.”

“You made this.” Klaus scrutinized the wacky young woman in front of him, with her lime-green fingernails and feet on her desk and pencil in her hair and noisemaker that she was now sticking up her nose. “You're...Gosh?” He did a double-take. “Holy shirt, did I just call you Gosh? What the fork? Okay, what's going on here?”

“Oh, I should explain the word filter,” said Lila. “Some of our residents aren’t too fond of vulgar language, you understand? The Good Place attracts a wholesome demographic.”

“Are you _sure_ this is the Good Place?”

Lila stopped flicking the noisemaker in her nostril and froze. Then she gave a high-pitched laugh. “You're such a card, Klaus. _Of course_ it's the Good Place.” She glanced sideways, at an especially tall cactus by the window. “But to answer your question, I'm just an architect. There are people way above me running the show.” In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, “To tell you the truth, this is my first neighbourhood.” She gave a bashful smile. “I'm sort of nervous, actually! So I'd appreciate it if you don't fork anything up for me.”

“You know me,” said Klaus, with a stilted laugh. “If there's one thing I'm known for, it's not forking up.” Then he shifted positions in his chair. “Not gonna lie. I'm flattered you picked me and all. But the best of humankind? I thought your standards would be higher.”

“Klaus, spare me the self-deprecation.” She gave him a kind and reassuring smile, although the effect was marred by the toy protruding from her nose. “I can't think of a more deserving candidate than you. The Good Place is for the best of the best. If you made it here, that says it all.”

He chose to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind that something didn’t fit, basking instead in the warm glow washing over him. _Now who's the disgrace to your last name, Reginald?_ “You know, if I weren't already dead, that unironically would have been the nicest thing anyone's said to me in my life.”

“Ah, that's a surprise,” Lila said. “If memory serves, you got heaps of praise for building that orphanage.”

Klaus froze. “Wait, what orphanage?”

“Good point, Klaus!” Lila nodded. “There were several, weren't there? But I was thinking of the one in Uganda. For refugee children. That whole project earned you tens of thousands of points. I remember some hullabaloo about a speech and a medal from the president.”

He was struck with the sensation of plummeting down a mine shaft. Immediately he turned to his first instinct in a pinch, which was to bullshit his ass off. “Yeah, well, that speech was nice and all. But I’m not in it for the accolades. The only reward I need is making those poor kids happy.” He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “When I see the smiles on those cute little angels' faces, it’s all worth it.”

“You’re so humble,” Lila said. “It’s a pleasant surprise. Between you and me, if thousands of acolytes were calling _me_ a prophet and hanging onto my every word, I'd have a bit of a swollen head.”

He fought to conceal his bewilderment. “It’s no big deal. You’ve gotta work with what you’re given, you know? Instead of letting all this charm and beauty go to waste, I wanted to use it for a good cause. Like...starting a cult, apparently.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” said Lila. “It's not a cult. It's an alternative spiritual community. You can rest in peace knowing your doctrine made the world a better place. I mean, self-sacrifice, abstinence, temperance, and commitment to public service? Those are values more people should apply to their lives.”

“Right.” Klaus loosened the collar of his mesh turtleneck. “Uh...am I supposed to be here?”

“You are the Klaus Hargreeves who was born in Dallas in 1960, right? The one who started a movement called Destiny’s Children that inspired thousands to devote their lives to serving the poor?”

The gears in his mind whirred. He didn’t understand why Lila’s impression of him seemed so off the mark, but if Klaus had learned one thing in his life, it was not to look a gift horse in the mouth. When the ticket inspector forgot to check your stub, you kept walking before he noticed you hadn’t paid the fare.

“Yep,” he blurted out. “Sounds exactly like me.”

“Good.” Lila laughed. “Almost scared me for a moment there! I'd be in a spot of trouble if I'd mixed up the file, wouldn't I?” She grimaced. “Imagine condemning the wrong Klaus to eternal torment. But enough prattle. What time is it?”

She pulled the toy out of her nose and stuck it between her teeth. (Even as someone who wasn’t too proud to eat out of dumpsters, Klaus shuddered at the lack of hygiene, but maybe germs were academic in the afterlife.) With her free hands, she grabbed a heavy contraption that Klaus had thought was a paperweight but upon a closer look resembled a six-pronged hourglass twisted around itself. She rotated it, examining the sand that fell through the intricate tubing in the center.

“Is it quarter to Maybe already?” she said through her clenched teeth. She put the object down, then took the noisemaker out of her mouth and stuck it in her bun alongside the pencil. “Darn it, I wanted to show you around, but there’s no time before my next appointment.” Lila clapped twice. “Ben!”

Out of thin air, a man appeared next to Klaus, startling him. He clearly had a central theme going on with his wardrobe: black hoodie, black sweater, black jeans, black boots. Like the creepy nerd in high school who secretly wanted to be a goth but was too afraid of non-conformity to commit to it.

“Hey,” Ben said.

“Be a dear and help our new arrival get settled in, won't you? And fetch him a set of clothes that’s more to his taste. No idea how he wound up in this skimpy number.”

Ben shrugged. “Sure.”

“Who's this ashhole?” Klaus asked.

“Ben is a vessel for all knowledge in human history,” said Lila. “He's here to assist the residents of this neighbourhood whenever they have a request. Like your personal butler and librarian rolled into one.” (Ben stiffened and looked at the ground.) “Picture him as a guide to everything you ever wanted to know about the universe but were too afraid to ask. Like Ask Jeeves on steroids.” She paused. “Just checking, they still use Ask Jeeves in 2019, right?”

“Don't ask me. I haven't owned a computer in years.”

“Let me check my archives,” said Ben. He squinted in deep concentration. “No. They don't.”

“Never mind,” said Lila. “Once you’ve shown him around the neighbourhood, you can take him to his custom home so he can meet his soulmate.”

“I guess,” Ben said.

“Wait.” Klaus looked up. “Soulmate?”

“Of course,” said Lila. “Every person has a soulmate.”

“Can you be more specific? Is that a wife? A forkbuddy? A queerplatonic partner?”

“I mean the love of your life. The person whose soul we’ve determined is a perfect match to your own. Most of the time it’s a romantic connection.”

“Ah. Sounds very Disney-movie.” Klaus mulled it over. “Hypothetically, can you have more than _one_ soulmate? Because between you and me, I'm not sure one person is enough to handle all my physical and emotional needs. Just saying, I'm high maintenance. Maybe it's better if I play the field with multiple—”

“Oh, no. You can only have one soulmate. Singular.” Lila held up a single finger. Then she frowned. “Funny, I thought monogamy was one of the tenets of your alternative spiritual community. Maybe I should double-check the files— ”

“Wow, I am so excited to meet my soulmate!” Klaus sang, springing up from his chair. “My one and only soulmate. I might start dancing with joy.” He grabbed Ben's hands and spun around in a pirouette. Ben stood woodenly, not moving.

“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Lila. “Of course, I know that with your vow of celibacy, you won't want to consummate your relationship.” She gave him a suggestive wink. “You might want to give your soulmate advance warning on that front. But between you and me, your man's a bit shy, so I'm sure he'll roll with it.”

 _Your man._ Klaus felt a stab of glee at how many religious authorities would have an aneurysm over that bombshell. Good to know the afterlife was equal opportunity, at least.

As for that vow of celibacy...well, Klaus was sure he could find a way around it.

“Anyway, once Ben gets you changed into something more comfortable, you can explore the neighbourhood,” Lila said. “Make yourself at home. You'll be here forever, after all.”

When Klaus and Ben were a few feet from the door, Lila called, “Oh, and Klaus?”

Klaus stopped.

“You'll love it here,” she said, flashing him a giant grin. “After all, if you aren't happy in the Good Place, where else in the universe can you be happy?”

Somehow that only made Klaus nervous.

\---

The door closed.

Lila counted down in her mind from fifty, staying frozen in place.

Three. Two. One.

Her hair fell loose above her shoulders as she yanked the pencil and noisemaker out of her bun and flung them against the wall. She pulled her legs off the desk and sat up straight.

“You can come out now, Mum,” said Lila.

The tall cactus by the window morphed into a woman in a jagged emerald-green dress and a veiled hat full of pins. Her hands were covered by studded pale green gloves that went past her elbows. She raised them and began to clap slowly. “Not bad,” she said. “Although the noisemaker was overdoing it, don't you think?”

“That's just part of the act,” Lila said. “I need to seem dotty but harmless. Absentminded enough to make a fork-up this big.”

“Admit it, darling.” Her mother strolled over to her on green spiked stiletto heels. She stroked Lila's cheek, and Lila smelled her thick perfume. “You're having fun with this, aren't you?”

Lila felt a small grin on her face. “Maybe a little.”

“Honey, get your kicks where you can. Just remember what the goal is.” Her mother's voice turned low and predatory. “It's to make those pukebags suffer. Not to play stupid games to keep yourself busy.”

“I told you, Mum, this isn’t a game. It’s about allocating our resources more efficiently through delegation. Why hire one demon to strap down the victim, another to turn the rack, and a third to work the penis flattener when we can outsource the work to the victims themselves?”

“A whole village for a handful of people is not what I'd call efficient.”

“Mum, it's an experiment. We have to test it out with a small group of subjects first. Once we have proof of concept, we can fine-tune it. Soon we'll mass-produce neighbourhoods like this one. But you need to trust me first.”

“Why does that not inspire me with confidence?” Mum's expression darkened. “Speaking of the subjects, have the others got settled in?

“Almost,” Lila said. “We're just waiting on the movie star, and then we should be good to go.”

"Did you solve the little hiccup with her soulmate?"

Lila fidgeted. "Don't worry, it's been...dealt with. Everything is under control now, I promise."

“For your sake, let's hope so.” The Handler rested against the edge of the desk beside Lila. She pulled out a cigarette holder, then struck a match and held it to the cigarette at the end. But nothing happened. “Ugh, I forgot this shirthole had a no-smoking policy. The sooner I get out of here and back to the Bad Place, the better.”

“I know, I'm losing my shirt here,” said Lila. Everything in this simulation was so puritanical that she wanted to hurl. Granted, that was the point, but sometimes this felt like a kamikaze attack where Lila was being tormented more than the subjects.

“Well, don't blame me,” said the Handler. “This was your bright idea.” She leaned in closer. “You know, we had a good thing going on for ten thousand years. The system was working fine. But _someone_ couldn't leave well enough alone.”

“Oh, come on, Mum. You and I both know the old ways are stale. We can't just use lakes of fire forever like it's the fifteenth century. It's time for modern methods that are a lot more subtle.”

“Little one, I trusted you enough to let you take initiative with this silly experiment. Call it a mother's weakness. Don't let my little show of nepotism be a mistake. Because if it is...” She grabbed Lila's chin. Lila felt the Handler's sharp fingernails poke through her gloves and into Lila’s skin. “Others in our organization aren't as soft as me. You know what the penalty is.”

Lila gulped nervously. Demons didn't feel pain as strongly as humans did. But if the situation was excruciating enough, they could feel enough pain to be made very uncomfortable. And their higher-ups were very, very good at coming up with excruciating situations.

“I'll do my best,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, although this draws heavy inspiration from character and plot elements in the original show, I'm mostly doing my own thing here. For example, don't expect Lila to behave exactly like Michael and Ben to behave exactly like Janet--think of this as the Umbrella Academy cast _if_ they existed in the Good Place universe.


	2. Frozen Yogurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben gives Klaus a tour around the neighbourhood.

“You’re serious?” Klaus repeated for the third time.

“Yes.” Ben’s stare was blank.

“Really?” He motioned to his outfit. “This is what I’m supposed to wear for all eternity? _This?_ ”

The dark beige robe was shapeless and reached down to the floor, with baggy sleeves that swallowed up his hands. On top he wore a brass-coloured scapular and a brown hooded cowl that he refused to pull over his head. He felt like a cross between a wizard and a potato sack. His only layer underneath was a hideous loincloth that looked like a diaper. For a moment, Klaus had considered stripping down to the loincloth alone, but it had seemed out of character for the role he was playing. And besides, although Klaus wasn’t shy about showing skin, even he had standards.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to give me an answer other than ‘yes’?”

“That’s a logical paradox. If I say no, then I’ve just answered something other than yes. But if I say yes, then I’m answering yes again.” He paused. “Oh, I guess that was an answer that wasn’t yes.”

“My head hurts just talking to you, man. Can’t you get me a crop top and leggings? Or maybe a tasteful sarong?”

“I can get you any clothes in the universe,” Ben said. “But this is your religious garb, according to Lila’s records. So it’s what you’re supposed to want.”

And Ben had him there, didn’t he? Klaus forced a wide grin and said, “I guess the records know me best.”

Really, though, couldn’t this have been a bit more form-fitting? Whoever Lila thought this other version of Klaus was, clearly he was someone with a worse figure, judging from the size and unflattering…

Great. Klaus kicked himself for that thought, because now his mind was going down rabbit holes about this other Klaus. Was he still alive, only somehow Klaus had stolen the credit for his actions? Did he not exist at all, the product of a clerical error from some almighty accountant in the sky? Or had both of them somehow switched places?

It didn’t matter. _This_ Klaus had more important things to worry about. For example, whether it was possible to score some H in the Good Place. And whether he was more afraid of the answer being yes or no.

In the waiting room, Ben half-walked, half-glided toward the opposite wall. For the first time, Klaus noticed the faint outline of an archway.

Next to the outline, Ben touched the wall. Invisible keys lit up red beneath his fingers as he entered a passcode. A beep, and then the wall inside the outline disappeared, turning into the mouth of a cave.

Ben stepped through the gap. With a nervous skip of his heart, Klaus followed.

He’d expected to find darkness on the other side, but instead was a vast sky in a brilliant blue as deep and rich as a robin’s egg, without a cloud in sight. He was about to make some inane comment to Ben about the weather, but without warning, Ben vanished.

Disoriented, Klaus looked around. He was alone in the middle of an empty green field whose perimeter was surrounded by low hills, all identical in height.

“Ben!” he shouted.

Immediately, Ben reappeared. “What?” Then he frowned. “Oh. I forgot. You have to walk.” He turned around and took large rigid steps, swinging his legs without bending his knees. “Yuck. This is so uncomfortable.”

The distance between them grew. Klaus rushed to catch up, stumbling over the hem of his baggy robe multiple times. If Ben noticed him struggling to keep up, he gave no acknowledgment; he barreled forward, without looking back.

As they crossed the field, the soft grass got between Klaus’s toes through his sandals. Every blade was mowed to the same length, almost as though it was Astroturf instead of real grass. Pink and red flowers like none he’d ever seen bloomed in equidistant clusters.

For a moment, Klaus thought Ben had forgotten his presence. But then out of nowhere, Ben said, “Those are birdflowers.”

“Birdflowers?”

As if on cue, a flower next to him broke off from the stem and launched itself upward, making Klaus jump. Its petals separated into stubby wings that beat rapidly as a hummingbird’s. The birdflower bounced and rolled along drunkenly through the air, fluttering its petal-wings and letting out a high-pitched whistle.

“Half bird, half flower,” said Ben.

When it approached another birdflower, it stuck out what looked like a hook-shaped beak into the center as if sucking out the nectar. Both the flower and the bird started chirping loudly.

Ben covered his eyes. “They like when you give them privacy.”

“Right,” said Klaus, copying Ben (although he peeked through his fingers). “Sorry, guys!”

It was pretty, but Klaus had never been much for botany. Although he’d made a couple of stealthy attempts at fourteen to grow pot plants in his mother’s herb garden, none of his seedlings had survived long enough to be harvested.

They kept walking in silence. A few minutes later, Ben said, “Up there are the rainbow slopes.” He pointed to purple mountains in the distance. “You can go skiing or sledding there, but instead of snow, you’re sliding down a magical rainbow of joy.”

“Wow.” Klaus squinted in the direction of the mountain range. Now that Ben mentioned it, he could make out antlike people on the hills, ski lifts gliding along cables. As the residents slid down, they kicked up multicoloured clouds of powder large enough for Klaus to see from below.

His stepfather had dragged him and his mother on a couple of ski trips, back when she’d still been well enough. He remembered the icy wind against his face, the icier silences back at the lodge. Sore legs and frozen toes after grueling drills and lessons, because _of course_ even vacations had been occasions for self-improvement. Klaus didn’t think he’d take advantage of the rainbow slopes anytime soon.

The landscape steepened so gradually that Klaus didn’t realize it had become a hill until he started getting short of breath. The temperature was perfect, warm with a faint breeze, but even so, Klaus was sweating from the exertion of climbing. There were still birdflowers here, along with what looked like daffodils with googly eyes, but now the grass thinned out as they approached the top, replaced with rocks and bare earth. Rows of hedges and brush patches sprouted between the stones in a controlled wildness. A clear brook wound through a path of smooth rocks in a symmetrical S.

Klaus couldn’t remember when he’d last seen this much nature and open space. It should have taken his breath away. But he couldn’t get settled in. His head felt screwed on wrong, like a guitar whose strings were tuned to the wrong notes. Every little sound, from the chirping birdflowers to the babbling brook, grated on him. He felt the urge to snap at Ben, to pick a fight with him just to let off steam, and he was jittery and restless…

Then he remembered.

Right. So maybe death hadn’t taken care of that problem.

 _It can take months or even years for your neurotransmitters to reset to normal,_ counsellors at rehab had told him more than once. (Or at least the good counsellors at the good clinics had. The bad ones had sent him off with a chip and a speech about submitting to a higher power.) _And the longer you’ve been using, the longer the timeline for your brain to heal._ In other words, if Klaus spent ninety percent of the time either too depressed to get out of bed or too anxious to fall asleep or just an insufferable little bitch with a short fuse, he should cut himself some slack. Because his wrecked brain was still teaching itself how to function without opiates and the other shit he’d fried it with.

He wondered what might have happened, had he died forty-three days earlier. Would he be getting the shakes right now, puking all over the perfect green grass? Or was that something Good Place magic would have cured, unlike the more subtle effects?

That certainly raised a lot of philosophical questions—how much of what he felt was the brain, how much the body, and how much the soul. Questions he might have given a lot more thought, had his focus not been occupied by how badly he wanted to stick a needle in his arm right now.

All this led back to where he could find said needle, and whether there was a reason not to spend eternity strung out. Now that there was nothing left for the drugs to take from him, what was the point of fighting them?

They had scaled the peak of the hill now. On the other side, Klaus could see a cluster of buildings down below. As they descended, Ben said, “Ahead of us is the neighbourhood.”

“Lovely,” said Klaus. His gaze darted sideways. “Uh...does the architect know what goes on in her neighbourhood? Like, is she watching us on CCTV, or does she skedaddle once we’re settled in?”

“Most architects are hands-off,” Ben said. “According to my records of other Good Place neighbourhoods, anyway.”

“You've never been to other Good Place neighbourhoods?”

“Nope. Just the Ben laboratory and here.”

“What’s a Ben laboratory?”

“Where I was made.”

“They made you in a _lab_?”

“Yeah.”

Not much for socialization, but for once Klaus appreciated it. Now that the idea had been planted in his mind, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all conversation. His mouth was very dry, and he felt an itch underneath his skin. As they walked down the hill in silence, he felt the temptation build, his last flimsy pillar of resolve crumble.

Finally he blurted out, “So. Ben-Ben. You report to Lila, right?”

“Not quite,” Ben said. “She booted me up, but I'm only here to serve the residents.”

“So I can ask you for anything in the universe and you'll give it to me?”

“Pretty much.”

Klaus hated himself for how quickly his body reacted. His heart beat faster, and his hands started to tremble.

“And whatever I ask for, you won't tell Lila?”

“My search records are confidential,” Ben said.

He didn't meet Ben in the eye. “If I asked for a dime bag of something, how quickly could you get it for me?”

Ben vanished. Before Klaus had a chance to wonder where he'd gone, Ben was back, a small plastic baggie in his fist.

“Here you go,” said Ben, handing it to Klaus.

As Klaus’s mind flooded with all the associations it connected to that little bag, he felt a rush, and a wicked grin spread across his face. The texture through the plastic was unfamiliar, though—grainy. He opened his palm and took a closer look. Inside was something gold and sparkly.

“Wait a minute,” he said, opening the bag and sticking his finger in. “Is this _glitter_?”

“You asked for a dime bag of something,” said Ben. “Glitter is something.”

“I didn't mean any something.” He stared at the glitter on his fingertip, feeling a pang of disappointment so strong that it manifested as physical pain. “A _chemical_ something. If you know what I mean.”

“Glitter has chemicals,” Ben said. “Aluminum, polyethylene terephthalate...”

“No, goshdarnit, the fun kind of chemicals! You know”—here Klaus spoke in a hushed whisper—“ _drugs._ ” Desperation crept into his voice. “Anything you've got, man. Preferably the hard stuff, but pills would be nice too. Fork, even weed would do.”

“Oh, not that.”

His heart sank, hope dying as quickly as it had been born. “But why not?”

“It's the Good Place. It's a drug-free zone. Otherwise it wouldn't be good anymore.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “I didn't know Lila was forking Nancy Reagan. If I'm dead anyway, why does it matter?”

Ben shrugged. “I don't make the rules.”

“Ben-uh. _Pleeeeeeeeeeease._ I earned my spot in the Good Place, fair and square. This is my reward for a _lifetime_ of selfless public service.” He clutched his heart. “It seems to me like I'm entitled to feel good if I want to.”

Ben's smile was superficially pleasant, but there was an edge behind it. Like the shopkeeper telling you to have a nice day right after refusing you service because you'd pissed all over his floor. “Well, you shouldn't need chemical assistance to feel good in the Good Place.”

“Great,” Klaus snapped. “Thanks for the lecture.”

He stormed down the hill—a futile gesture, when Ben reappeared in a flash in front of him. “Oh, are we racing?” asked Ben. Then he vanished. From down below, Ben called out, “I win.”

Scowling, Klaus hiked up his robe and ran downward. At the bottom of the hill, the grass was replaced abruptly with cobblestones. Quaint pastel-coloured buildings surrounded them, with architecture that was a cross between a small European village and Disneyworld. Couples thronged the narrow streets.

Completing the picture was the faint sound of a violin in the distance.

“Why do I hear classical music?” Klaus asked, frowning. “Is that the Good Place theme song or something?”

“No, that’s Paganini’s Caprice No. 24.”

Closer to the source of the sound, Klaus saw what looked like a food truck, only with vinyl records glued to the outside like some hipster’s bedroom walls.

“That’s the music stand,” Ben said. “They have every piece of music that’s been written in the history of the world. Including the ‘Poo Poo Butts’ song you made up in kindergarten to annoy Cindy Kovacs during recess. And those three notes you always hum to yourself when you’re nervous.”

Klaus gave Ben a suspicious look. “Have you been stalking me?”

“I’ve stalked every single human who has ever lived since the invention of fire up to April 1st, 2019. After that the data gets fuzzy.”

Beside the cart was a small brunette in a man’s plaid button-down, so short that Klaus hadn’t seen her behind the music stand. Her eyes were closed as she listened to the music, and her fingers twitched in time to the…riffs? Klaus knew nothing about violin playing. The expression on her face was so solemn that Klaus couldn’t tell if she was enjoying what she heard.

“It should have been a no-brainer to install some headphones,” said Klaus.

Ben shrugged and said nothing.

The truth was, he hated classical music. It was Reginald music, stuffy and pompous and frosty. Klaus couldn’t listen to it without flashbacks to the stiff dinners of his youth. Especially the ones where he couldn’t pop a couple of painkillers first to be miles away, protected from Reginald’s glare across the table by his secret chemical armour as he picked at his food with a glazed smile. The ones where the stereo would play some German composer whose name Klaus couldn’t pronounce and he’d sit with his heart in his throat, afraid that tonight his mother would have an episode or his stepfather would choose some fault of theirs to harp on all meal. Balanced on the edge of a knife, waiting for something to go wrong.

“Hey, play Freebird!” Klaus shouted at the stand as they passed it by.

Instantly, the song changed to Lynyrd Skynyrd. The woman looked crestfallen, but Klaus ignored her and kept walking. He wasn’t feeling sympathetic, not when the familiar itch was back, reminding him that he wasn’t okay, that if he wanted to be okay he needed a key ingredient missing from his brain chemistry. She should have better taste in music if she wanted to subject everyone in the neighbourhood to it.

“Here's a frozen yogurt shop,” said Ben, pointing to one of the buildings. “They have frozen yogurt here. Obviously.” He swept his arm around. “And then here are all the other frozen yogurt shops.”

Around them were close to a dozen shops with cutesy names like FroYo Boyo, Frozen Paradise and Let It Fro. Placards in baby blue and mint green and bubblegum pink advertised their wares with cartoonish graphics.

Klaus wrinkled his forehead. “How do shops work in the Good Place? I didn’t know the afterlife had money.”

“They take payment in smiles and compliments.”

“Hmm.” Klaus wasn’t hungry, but he also wasn’t one to turn down free stuff. “What if I’m lactose intolerant?”

“Oh, the Good Place has a filter on gastrointestinal effects.”

“About time something worked out in my favour here.” With more exuberance than he felt, he grabbed Ben’s arm and squealed, “Ooh, let’s get some!”

One of the shops in particular called to him for having a bare-bones title with no puns—Griddy’s. Klaus dragged Ben in the direction of the sign, so quickly he tripped over his robes, past the tables outside.

At the counter inside were what looked like a mother and her son. The large woman with red curly hair and glasses was holding the boy’s hand and saying, “No, Kenny, you’re too young for the espresso flavour. It has caffeine in it. What about strawberry?”

“Mom, I hate strawberry,” Kenny said, crossing his arms with a sullen pout.

She gave an indulgent smile. “Then you can get a different fruit. One with plenty of vitamins for growing boys.”

“I’m not a growing boy. I’m dead!”

“Let’s see what Agnes thinks,” Kenny’s mom said. She turned to the older woman behind the counter. “Do you have any suggestions?”

The woman smiled. “I think your mom is right on this one. What about a delicious mango flavour instead?”

Kenny balled one of his tiny hands into a fist, but said nothing.

“Here you go,” she said. “I added some sprinkles and jujubes on top, just for you.”

The boy reached for the yogurt in the server’s hand, but before he could grab it, she pulled it back. “Don’t forget to pay.”

Kenny gave a pained smile and said, “Your counter is very clean.”

“Thank you,” said Agnes, and handed it over to him. As he ran off with his mother, she called out, “Have a lovely day!”

Then the woman at the counter turned to them. “Hi, Ben! Who’s this handsome young gentleman?”

“Klaus Hargreeves,” said Ben.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.” She beamed. “Hope he’s not giving you too much trouble, Ben.”

“He is,” Ben said in a deadpan voice, no trace of expression on his face.

“Oh,” said Agnes, looking nonplussed. “Well, want to try our brand-new you're-a-spoiled-rich-kid-who-threw-a-tantrum-and-got-your-parents-to-buy-you-a-pony-for-your-birthday flavour?”

“I don't eat,” Ben said.

“Wait a minute,” said Klaus, “what does that even taste like?”

Agnes closed her eyes and gave a blissful smile. “Imagine the feeling of having everything you've ever wanted. Of growing up thinking the world revolves around you. On top of that, it’s your birthday. The day you get to be special. But even that’s not enough. You’re so greedy that you ask for something unreasonable. And somehow, you still get your way. That’s when you realize that no one will ever tell you no. Every light ahead of you is green. That taste, right there, in your mouth.” She booped Klaus on the nose. “Want a bite?”

Klaus nodded, and she took a tiny tasting spoon and stuck it in his mouth. Instantly, he felt a little surge of security and self-importance.

It was okay. Nothing special.

Then again, Klaus had been a spoiled rich kid, to less than stellar results. Maybe he needed a pleasant sensation that was less entwined with pain. “Do you have anything else?”

“How about your-first-time-seeing-the-ocean-flavoured yogurt? That one’s a classic.”

Klaus reflected upon the first time he’d seen the ocean, many years ago. He was pretty sure he’d felt something back then. “Fine, why not?”

She gave him another tasting spoon. He closed his eyes and savoured it. The taste of salt in his mouth, the faint tranquility, the crash of waves and seafoam breeze.

Incredibly mediocre. 5/10.

Why did experiences that were supposed to be happy always leave Klaus feeling so empty?

Klaus gave an awkward laugh. “I don't suppose you have a your-first-time-snorting-cocaine flavour, do you?” He paused. “What about...cocaine-flavoured? Or just cocaine?”

Agnes gave him an uncomfortable smile. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just a joke!” said Klaus. “It wasn't serious. Unless you have some...in which case, it was whatever you want it to be.” He winked.

At Agnes’s blank stare, Klaus sighed. “Just give me a cup of the espresso flavour. If it’s good enough for Kenny, it’s good enough for me.”

She reached under her shelf and scooped frozen yogurt into a paper cup. “Here you go,” she said, and then looked at him expectantly.

Klaus sighed. “You are one sexy cougar,” he said, with a plastered-on grin. She looked puzzled, but handed him his cup. He got some of the yogurt on his saggy sleeves as he grabbed it.

The espresso frozen yogurt was probably his favourite flavour of the three. Still, less than halfway through, he couldn’t eat another bite. Even back when he’d been both alive and sober, Klaus had never had much of an appetite.

He walked outside, to where Kenny and his mother were sitting and eating at one of the tables.

“Wow, a mother-son duo!” He wrapped his arms around each of their shoulders. Kenny pulled away, but his mother gave Klaus a warm smile. “So how does that work? Did you two die together?”

“Not quite,” said Kenny’s mom. “I’m his soulmate.” She must have seen the look of horror on Klaus’s face, because she added, “Gosh, _no_. Nothing like that. Only since Kenny died so very young, he needed someone to look after him. And I always wanted to be a mom so badly. But I couldn’t conceive. It’s why I worked with kids on earth.” She smiled. “So here I am.”

She grabbed Kenny and pinched his cheek.

“The poor angel,” she said. “His real parents were monsters. They did unspeakable things to him, until one day, they went too far…” She stopped, her eyes growing watery. “He never got a chance to grow up.” Kenny lowered his head. His mother said, “But he had such a pure heart. Even when it got awful, he always looked on the bright side.”

She gave him a look. Kenny said, “It wasn’t so bad.” He paused, and as if it didn’t seem like enough, added, “It’s not like I did anything worth making it here. You could say I was lucky to die at the right time. Before I got my hands dirty.”

“Don’t listen to him,” his mom said. “When he was eleven, he handcuffed himself to a supermarket fish tank to protect the lobsters.”

“That’s, uh, something,” said Klaus.

“He’s such a saint,” Kenny’s mom said. “With parents like his, I don’t know where he gets it from. Compared to him, who am I? Sure, I fostered a few children, but thousands of people do that.” She lowered her voice. “To be honest, I feel guilty. Like I don’t belong here. Like I’m taking a slot from someone worthy.”

Klaus felt uncomfortably hot. “Don’t…don’t say that.”

“You know there are limited spots in the Good Place, right? It’s based on highest point counts, and only a tiny fraction of humanity makes it in. That means for every good person accepted, someone almost as good is condemned to eternal torture.”

Klaus laughed weakly. “I’m sure eternal torture is overstating it.”

But now Kenny’s mom buried her face in her hands and sniffled. While her face was covered, Klaus sneaked his leftover espresso frozen yogurt under the table to Kenny. The boy gave him a pleased grin.

“Hey, I’m sure you’re a lovely woman,” Klaus said, patting her on the back. “Give yourself more credit.” Then he turned to Ben. “But my buddy Benny here is a busy bot. We should get going. He has someone else to show around after me.”

“No I don’t,” Ben said.

“Shut the fork up,” he said cheerfully, still grinning from ear to ear as he shot Ben a murderous glare. “Anyway, catch you later! Enjoy your frozen yogurt.”

He extended a fist at Kenny. After blinking at it a few seconds, Kenny grabbed his clenched fist and gave it a shake. Klaus laughed. “One of these days, Kenny, I’m gonna teach you how to do a fist bump.”

As they walked on, Klaus asked, “Why frozen yogurt?”

Ben shrugged. “Beats me. It’s Lila’s signature thing.”

“Benny-bot, aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“I know everything about human history. Lila isn’t a human.”

They passed a triangular sign that said UNICORN CROSSING. The roads were lined with squishy gumdrop-shaped lamps like from a rejected location from Candyland. Klaus took the time to absorb his vibrant surroundings. It occurred to him for the first time that he didn’t see a single scrap of trash anywhere. No discarded yogurt containers, no wrappers or soda cans. Everything was bright and squeaky clean.

That was the moment he realized he could never fit in here. This wasn't his kind of place. Klaus's kind of place had deafening music and cigarette butts on the floor and graffiti on the walls. Klaus's kind of place had bathroom stalls with missing doors and no seat on the toilet, but no one was in any frame of mind to notice or care. By this point, he’d spent so much time in trap houses and dive bars that grime and seediness felt like home. Like Klaus could relax, like he could wear whatever he wanted and put whatever he wanted into his body without anyone looking at him twice for being himself. Here Klaus couldn’t breathe easily. He kept half-expecting a cop to show up and escort him off the property.

Then it occurred to him that maybe that was a sign. Who was to say he wouldn’t be happier where he actually belonged?

“Hey, Ben? What’s the Bad Place like?”

“You’d need to ask a Bad Ben that question.”

“A…you know what, never mind. I don’t actually care. But it can’t be that bad, right? If almost everyone winds up there?”

Ben said nothing. His silence got under Klaus’s skin.

“I mean it,” Klaus continued. “Say instead of building ten orphanages, you only built one. It doesn’t seem fair that you go to the same place as Hitler and people who take their shoes and socks off on airplanes.”

Ben shrugged. “A Ben doesn’t concern himself with how many points people earned on earth. My job is just to run the neighbourhood.”

“But who designed this system?”

“The judge. And a team of experts. That’s all I know.”

“Right. So you know nothing about the Bad Place, except that it exists?”

“Normally, a Good Ben in a Good Place neighbourhood wouldn’t have a record of anything that happened in the Bad Place. Bens are the mainframe of a neighbourhood, so a Good Ben’s inherent Goodness is incompatible with Bad Place Badness.” Ben seemed to be reflecting. “I may have access to some scraps of information that weren’t blocked, though.”

Ben popped his jaw, then opened his mouth so wide you could fit a literal basketball inside. Before Klaus could be alarmed, the sound of thousands of bloodcurdling screams in unison piped out from the gaping hole. Some of the screaming was wordless, some in languages Klaus couldn’t recognize, but you didn’t need language to understand the pain and despair being expressed. Haunted, harrowing, hopeless. The sound struck into the marrow of Klaus’s bones.

Klaus’s skin turned ice-cold, and his blood seemed to freeze solid. He wondered if he would shatter if someone touched him.

“That’s…what the Bad Place sounds like?”

“No, that’s just what it sounds like in the room where you’re buried in scorpions,” said Ben. Then he perked up. “Oh, I also have a recording of the room where you’re slowly eaten alive by termites. Do you want to hear that?”

Klaus closed his eyes. Hummed to himself to steady his nerves. _Well, shit, Ben was right about the three notes,_ he thought, which somehow upset him more. Took a deep breath and made himself keep moving his gelatinous legs.

“Well,” said Klaus, forcing a shaky smile, “guess I was born in Dallas in 1960.”


End file.
